Free Fight for Power by Eric Walters Page A

dropping grenades, one after the other, with explosion after explosion detonating in our wake as we soared along the barracks rooftops. And then suddenly we passed by the last building and a few seconds later we cleared the perimeter fence and soared up and away and into the darkness. There was nothing but the steady roar of the engine and propeller. We’d gotten in and out without being fired on. We’d taken them completely by surprise.
    â€œCome back around, hard, fast!” Herb yelled.
    I hit the rudder pedals as hard as I could. We started to slide, and I heard the engine threatening to stall—I goosed the gas, opening the throttle up completely to regain the speed I’d lost.
    I could now see the compound out of the corner of my eye—there were flames, pools of light, but there was no movement on the ground, no sounds of bullets or secondary explosions, no muzzle fire.
    â€œIt’s deserted!” I screamed. “It’s—”
    My voice was overwhelmed by the noise of more blasts, one after the other lighting up the entire compound, the entire sky, with reds, oranges, and brilliant whites, and hundreds of muzzle flashes greeting the dawn, a steady barrage of shots. It was our four teams, attacking from all sides, precisely according to plan.
    â€œCease fire!” Herb yelled into the radio. “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
    The explosions and the muzzle bursts continued. Hadn’t they heard him?
    Gunfire was streaming from all sides—and other voices screamed out over the radio, trying to stop the attack, bring things under control. Then the shots lessened until only a few scattered ones sounded out, and then total silence.
    I brought us back around, the compound right in front of us, buildings on fire, the flickering light thrown out by the flames the only movement visible.
    â€œReport in!” Herb ordered. “Report in … Is there anybody down there?”
    â€œNegative, negative, it’s deserted!” It was my mother’s voice over the radio. “The fence has been breached, the walls aren’t guarded!”
    â€œIt could be a trap,” Herb warned.
    â€œI’m going to send in Brett and his squad,” Mom said.
    â€œGood. Let’s keep the larger forces outside, alert, keeping an eye on their flanks. Don’t let anybody come up from behind.”
    â€œRoger that,” my mother responded. “Do you really think it’s a trap?”
    â€œI don’t know that it isn’t . Keep watch.”
    As we came up over the compound again everything was much clearer. In those few short minutes, the sun had poked up over the horizon. Anxiously I scanned the ground for anything that could be dangerous. Three of the barracks were on fire at the center. All along the perimeter at different places the fences and walls had been breached, in some instances just blown to bits, the debris scattered behind. Outside the perimeter I caught glimpses of movement, sunlight reflecting off metal. I just hoped those were our people with our weapons.
    â€œThere’s Brett’s squad,” Herb said. “To the right, coming through the gap in the wall at about ten-thirty.”
    Men were moving through the gap and starting to fan out across the compound, taking shelter as they moved, covering one another. We were too high for me to pick out which one was Brett, but I knew he’d be leading because he always was. No matter what the situation, he always put himself up front on point, taking the biggest risk, protecting the people he was leading. People respected him for that.
    â€œThere’s an open stretch in the middle of the compound—that’s where the Cessna landed. Do you want me to put down?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s the last thing I want you to do. The place isn’t secure yet,” Herb said.
    â€œBut I don’t see anything.”
    â€œThere’s lots you can’t see that could kill us